As you can see, I made it out alive! After Day 1, I had had my doubts.

Okay. Whew. There is so much to write about from this one single event that I’m a bit lost on where to begin. Which is why it’s taken me two days to actually get down to chucking every last bit of epicness onto the page. Procrastination had nothing to do with it, scouts honour…

I realise that there is no way I could realistically fit everything into one post; not in an engaging and “ooh I want to read more” format (apparently it’s what I should be going for – who knew?). So you can take a look at the deliciousness of the day, the people who made me think , and some really cool arts and crafts in separate posts.  What one lady can do with a pointy stick and some cactus water stuff is kinda freaking amazeballs. Wow- I’m definitely winning the award for Bestest Englishness Everer with that last sentence. Apologies. Oh, and I’ve dedicated a WHOLE ENTIRE POST TO CUPCAKES... I think 72 DIFFERENT FLAVOURS warrant the attention… cupcakes excite me OK. Gosh.

Now onwards to Day 2 of the Charity Committee Fashion Show.

me1After dropping the kiddie-winks at school we headed over to the British Embassy to get our charity on. Ms G(randmistress lady-pants) flat out ignored me when I arrived – see no evil, speak no evil perhaps? Even the lovely Aussie C and Canadian M were flustered. Harried expressions combined with court heels and black dresses abounded – I felt as if we were preparing for a conjuring, not a ladies luncheon. Yet I helped where I could (with the clothes, not the coven). May I just add that pricing secondhand items for a charity sale is way more intimidating than it should reasonably be.

But then something happened that reminded me of the fickle nature of the tribe. It seems that once one is deemed more useful than threatening, all prior teeth-baring and poop throwing is not simply forgotten, but has never existed in any realm of space or time. This is useful if you want to preserve the sanctity of the aforementioned teacakes. Not so great if you would like to avoid deportation due to enacting grievous bodily harm on embassy grounds. I was overheard offering my services as photographer for the day. Following this, Ms G was suddenly, and supremely uncomfortably, this writer’s new best friend. From a non-acceptance of my very existence, I had become the most amusing person in the room; my outfit complimented to the “I love it! It’s so lovely! You look lovely! Can’t we sell that instead” level of smarm. Even worse, now she wants to get me naked. *Sigh*

so many shirts, so little wine
so many shirts, so little wine

The show itself? It was nice. There were many good hearted people, and a large amount was raised. The models were all volunteers, ranging from late 20’s to mid 50’s. They might not have made ‘Vogue’, but they had fantastic senses of humour and smiles to match. It’s not the easiest of things to parade around a room full of people who are quite literally judging the book by it’s cover. The MC was a white haired salsa instructor, who definitely enjoyed the whole shindig more than he was willing to admit. As he jived around the floor, I was thrown by the pure Pom revealed by his accent – no one that colonial should have so much rhythm.

The mob mentality was tangible though – cliques, gossip and secrets abounded. I feared for my safety then, as an intruder into their natural environment; the Embassy itself is enough like a stately home to encourage the minding of one’s P’s and Q’s . Yet on some molecular level I felt a deep pull toward the group, some desire to swish around in a straight-laced frock and tell the gardener to spruce up the roses. But no! I must resist! After swiftly reciting a Jimmy Carr one-liner, the urge passed. Fortunately, I had the wait-staff from the Hilton and a Russian diplomatic spouse to keep me grounded. This blog was this *imagine an incredibly short distance* close to being about cucumber sandwiches.

An colonial Summer garden, Turkey
An colonial Summer garden, Turkey

Truth must be told though. Almost everyone else that I met on the Committee, both male and female, were relaxed and friendly. While I fully endorse my views on how utterly and totally bonkers being on a Committee can cause ‘the feminine’ to become (especially, I repeat, ESPECIALLY, a Charity), they did work hard for the good of others. Even though appearing as the need to fulfill ideas of self-importance, I believe the effort was sincere. If not, who am I to judge? I have no idea where these ladies, or their behaviour, truly stems from. We all have a capacity for crazy.


No one who does that could be all that bad.